EVIL EYE Read online

  The pirate's eyes bulged, and he clenched his fists. "That is my coin, and I will have it."

  Jack stepped between me and Arneaux. "That may have been part of your treasure when you were alive, but it belongs to Tess now. She paid good money for it."

  "She threw her money away on stolen property. This is not my concern."

  I tapped on the counter to catch the testosterone twins' attention. "Excuse me, but by definition your treasure was stolen property, because you stole it from other ships, correct? So you have no valid claim to it, either."

  "Not to mention, he's dead," Jack pointed out in a silken voice filled with smugness.

  The pirate apparently didn't like smug, because he drew his sword and pointed it at Jack. "I was a privateer, you cochon. I sailed with letters of marque from His Majesty, King Louis the Fourteenth of France, who legally empowered me to capture Spanish ships. Therefore, the gold is rightfully mine."

  I sighed. "Okay, sure. Except, and I'm sorry for being indelicate, you're … a ghost. Once we find out what it's worth, I might be willing to give you the coin, to further human-spirit relations, but how could you even carry it?"

  Arneaux smiled at me and sheathed his sword. "You, ma belle rousse, are a beacon of light and reason in a cold, cold world."

  "Of course your world is cold," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "Because, dead."

  Pierre ignored him and placed his hand over the coin. One moment I could see the coin beneath his faintly translucent hand, and the next moment it was gone.

  "Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle. Until we meet again." Pierre bowed and then, before I could stop it, he reached out to touch my hand.

  That's when I started screaming.

  3

  When the swirling images of smoke and fire dissipated, I was sitting on Jack's lap being held against his warm, solid chest.

  I sighed. "You wouldn’t think it would happen with a ghost, since he's already dead."

  Jack's arms tightened around me, and he rested his cheek on the top of my head for a moment. He could touch me with no problem, since I'd already seen his death, and it never happened more than once. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Let me up."

  "Are you sure? You nearly hit the ground."

  I almost smiled. "But your superior tiger reflexes kicked in, and you caught me."

  "Naturally."

  "Thanks, but I'm fine now." I suddenly realized I'd forgotten the pirate and scanned the shop, but he was nowhere to be seen. Neither, I confirmed with a glance, was the coin he'd claimed.

  "He disappeared when you screamed," Jack said dryly. "I'd think a pirate would be hardened to hearing screams, but maybe he was a wimpy pirate."

  I stood up and stepped away before I let myself relax into his arms and just stay there all day.

  Tempting…

  No. I had a shop to run all by myself today, since Eleanor was on vacation with her son and grandson until tomorrow.

  "Hopefully that was that, and he won't be back," I said, not believing the words even as they came out of my mouth. "Although I think I'm in trouble about that coin. It looked like it was worth more than a hundred bucks. I'm going to be on the hook with John Luke, if so. It's not like my insurance will cover theft by ghost."

  "What did you see?" Jack frowned. "Or is it too painful to talk about?"

  Jack, like half the people in the world, thanks to a CNN special report, knew about my "gift." When people touch me, sometimes I can see how they're going to die—and it's not a still picture. It's vivid and real and live and in color, like I'm right there with them while they die. Apparently it could happen with somebody who was already dead, too.

  Yes, it's every bit as much fun as you're imagining, if by fun, you mean horribly awful nightmare.

  I closed my eyes and shivered before meeting his gaze. "No, I can talk about it. Poor guy died badly, though. And lots of people died with him. It was almost like a scene in a movie, but with way too much blood and smoke. They were fighting on the deck of a … well, I guess it was a pirate ship. Lots of men on both sides, although I don't know how they could tell who was on what side. It's not like they wore uniforms."

  "Tess," Jack's voice was gentle, and I looked up at him and realized my cheeks were wet.

  "It's so much worse, because I know it's not a movie, in spite of the old-time clothes and weapons. All those men were really dying, and really killing, and it was real blood …"

  "It's okay. I don't need to know anything else."

  I shrugged. "There's nothing else to tell. They fought. They died. They stabbed Pierre, threw him in the ocean, and he sank. It was pretty terrible. I'm glad I could give him that coin, if it made him feel any better. He died horribly."

  Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, looking somber. "Sure, but don't forget that he was right there doing horrible things, too. When you live by the sword, as they say …"

  "We're not talking about Pierre anymore, are we?" Jack had lived a very violent life in the years he'd been away from Dead End. He'd been a rebel soldier—leader of the rebels, really—and spearheaded the battle to keep the rogue vampires from taking over the government. It was sometimes hard to believe that humans in places other than Dead End had only known since 1995 that creatures like shifters, vampires, and the Fae existed. Once vamps came out of the coffin, so to speak, the worst of them had done what they'd always done: feasted on humans and taken over entire territories. But they'd been way more blatant about it. Vampires had even created a new house of Congress for themselves that had been dissolved early last year. Now, vampires ran for the same offices as everybody else.

  I heard they used the building as a museum of human-other relations now.

  The normal-people kind of vampires, like Dead End's Mr. Arroyo, who'd run his plumbing business long after he'd been Turned, just tried to live their lives, be good neighbors, and work out deals with local blood banks. After a decade of horrors and chaos while the world tried to come to terms to its new reality, some of the more enlightened members of government had pushed through the 2006 Non-Human Species Protection Act, which banned things like shooting shifters on sight.

  I looked at Jack and was really, really glad of that.

  He'd had a hard enough time in the battles he'd led. I'd even seen his death—his first death—when he came back to Dead End. I didn't want to see another of his deaths as it actually happened.

  Jack shook his head. "I never expected to live this long, Tess. You, with your gift, know that."

  Ah, yes. My gift. Curse, more like it. It didn't make for a great social life, and I'd been fighting against turning into a hermit. My best friend Molly and my family had helped. Jack helped, too. After I learned that my grandmother was a banshee, it made more sense, but making sense didn't translate into being welcome.

  Trust me, when they're passing out superpowers, don't ask for mine. Flight would be way, way cooler.

  "Hey. Do you know any bird shifters? We've never had any in Dead End, I don't think—"

  Jack sighed at the change of subject. "Yes, I do. No, you can't meet him, because he's a single guy who hits on every woman he sees, and I wouldn't want to have to kill him."

  I smiled. "Aww. That's sweet. I think. Or, really disturbing. Either way, time to get to work. There's nothing I can do about the pirate right now, and I have a full day ahead of me. Counters to clean, merchandise to sell. Run along, Jack." I made a shooing motion with my hands, because I needed to get him out of the shop before he asked about The Date, now that he was talking about men hitting on me.

  "Run along?" His eyes glittered a hot green, and an almost-feral smile filled with pure mischief spread across his face. "Did you really just tell me to run along? You do realize that brutal predators, and even master vampires have cowered at the mere sight of me, right?"

  "Yet, somehow, here I am, not cowering," I pointed out, rolling my eyes.

  "I know, and I just don't get it. But it's kinda hot."
He took a step toward me, and flashbacks to the hottest kiss in the universe threatened to turn me into a quivering mess.

  "I'm a business owner," I told him, using my sternest voice. "I don't have time to play. Now, get to work. Don't you have investigations to investigate?"

  He held up his hands in an "I surrender" gesture. "I'm leaving. Maybe a new case has come in since Mrs. Quindlen called me, frantically claiming that a werewolf ate her poodle."

  "That's ridiculous. The only werewolf in Dead End drives the elementary school bus, and he loves dogs. He showed his Borzoi at the Westminster Kennel Club show again last year."

  Jack sighed. "Yes, Tess, I know. She's still worked up over Bubba McKee's pet boa constrictor eating her cat. I interviewed Mr. Volkov and got a two-hour lecture on the history of Russian royalty and the dogs they owned. I can think back on it fondly any time I'm having trouble sleeping."

  I nodded. Mr. Volkov had bored generations of Dead End children into glazed-eyed submission on the bus with his long, rambling monologues on the joy of breeding show dogs. I remembered the bit of information that Molly and I used to find so funny, for some reason. "The Borzoi is also called the Russian wolfhound, you know."

  Jack flinched. "Don’t even go there."

  "Did you find Esmerelda?"

  "Of course I found her. She was hanging out with the neighbor's kids, helping them eat their breakfast. I just followed the smell of bacon."

  "That's some higher-level investigating, my friend," I said, grinning.

  He narrowed his eyes. "Watch it. Anyway, speaking of breakfast …"

  "Forget it. But about Mr. Volkov and the Borzois. How does that work? I was always afraid to ask. Aren't the dogs afraid of him? Can't they smell the wolf?"

  Jack shrugged. "Dogs are hierarchical animals. They recognize him as an alpha, and certainly the bigger predator, and follow his cue. He probably has trouble with the little dogs, though. They all think they're the size of lions. Chihuahuas hate me, for example. Not pugs, though, for some reason. Pugs love me."

  I looked him up and down, all six feet four inches of him. "Pugs love everybody. And you must look like Godzilla to a Chihuahua, even in human form. Lou's not afraid of you, though."

  My cat loved Jack and spent a lot of time curled up in his lap when he was at my place, which had been very surprising, since she'd been a stray and held herself aloof from most people who weren't me or Uncle Mike. Or maybe I was just jealous, because I wanted to spend time curled up in Jack's lap …

  The bells over the door chimed.

  Whew. Saved by the bell.

  An older man and woman, maybe early seventies, walked in, both wearing I WENT TO ORLANDO AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T-SHIRT shirts.

  My inner shark, er, pawnshop owner, woke up and smiled, and I elbowed Jack. "Okay, go. Now. I have tourists to charm, merchandise to sell."

  He smiled at the couple and then leaned over to whisper in my ear. "You can't escape me forever, ma chérie. We're going to have to talk about our—"

  Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…

  "Date."

  He said it.

  Dang.

  "I know. We will. I promise. Later."

  Jack left, and I was proud of myself for not watching him walk away, even though he had the best butt in the world. Mrs. Tourist had no such restraint. She blushed when she caught me noticing, but I just grinned conspiratorially.

  "I know. He's a lot."

  "Whew," she said, fanning herself. "I haven't seen a man that handsome since I met Matthew."

  Her husband beamed. "Aw, honey. You're too good to me." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and I watched wistfully as her face lit up. It wasn't all that common to see long-lasting love these days—the kind my Aunt Ruby and Uncle Mike have—and I was happy for them. And a little bit envious for myself. My 'gift' had always kept me from having much luck in the romance department.

  My gaze flitted to the now-closed door that led to Jack's office. Maybe my luck was changing?

  Hmm.

  Mr. Tourist—Matthew—leaned over the counter and caught sight of a rose-quartz bowl that had previously been used by a garden witch who mixed potions in it.

  "Isn't that the prettiest candy bowl? We could set chocolates out in it, honey."

  Well, Yasmine had promised me that the bowl was both cleansed and purified, so I felt pretty confident that Matthew's chocolates wouldn't wind up turning his wife into a unicorn.

  Fairly confident.

  Sort of confident …

  I sighed. "How about this crystal bowl over here, instead?"

  Twenty minutes later, the couple were the proud owners of a harmless, non-magical crystal bowl, two non-pirate-owned gold coins, a taxidermied raccoon, and two t-shirts with the Dead End Pawn logo, and the quartz bowl was safely in the back to be re-cleansed, just to be on the safe side. The pawnshop shirts had been Shelley's idea, and I had to admit it was a good one. I sold several every week, and she earned one dollar of commission from each sale.

  Speaking of dollars, I was five hundred sixty dollars richer now, not counting the possible loss from the pirate's theft of the gold coin, so it was shaping up to be a good morning. The door opened again, this time with a group of women wearing matching bachelorette party shirts, and I got to work.

  "Welcome to Dead End Pawn, and congratulations! How can I help you?"

  I sold several more mid-priced items (some jewelry, a crossbow, and an iPhone), took a few ordinary items in for pawn (a laptop computer, a shotgun, and a magic mirror that only worked on the solstices, the owner promised), and generally had a steady morning. The first time I looked up at the clock it was nearly noon, and my stomach growled on cue.

  The bells over the door chimed, and Lucky walked into the shop. Lucky Tremaine was one of the guys I called Jack's 'swamp commandos.' There were several of them, and they'd all been in the military on various special forces teams before moving to—or moving back to—Dead End. They lived in houses that could only charitably be called shacks out in the swamp. Jack had made friends with all of them when he'd moved back to town, and they were good guys who'd helped us out with a couple of problems. But none of them were all that fond of being around people, since they battled various forms of PTSD.

  Lucky was one of the more outgoing of the guys, but even he usually only came to town to get supplies or, sometimes, pawn one of his guitars. His favorite guitar, a pretty blue Gibson Limited Edition Les Paul Traditional Electric (yes, I'd had to look it up; pawnshop owners learn an awful lot about an awful lot—we're killer at Trivial Pursuit), was currently in my vault, since he'd been paying promptly. Also, I knew he was good for it. So, even if he missed a payment or two, I wouldn't sell it out from under him.

  Sometimes you had to bend the rules to help people. The fact that I could do so whenever I wanted to was one of the reasons I loved my job.

  "Hey, Lucky! It's nice to see you. Are you here for your guitar?"

  "Yep. I'm flush with cash. The new business is going great."

  He and the guys had opened up an airboat rides company recently, and I kept flyers for it on my counter for any interested customers, but it just said AIRBOAT RIDES, since they'd all had different ideas for what to call their fledgling company. "I'm so glad to hear it! What did you decide on for the name of the business?"

  He grinned at me, all blond-haired, blue-eyed, boy next door cuteness, and I thought for the hundredth time that I couldn't believe all the single women in Dead End weren't chasing him down.

  "You kind of named it, Tess," he said, still grinning.

  I blinked. "Me? I didn't … what?"

  "Jack told us about what you call us—"

  "Oh, no. Lucky, I don't mean anything bad by that—"

  "So we call our business Swamp Commando Airboat Rides," he said proudly. "And we already turned a profit in our first month in business."

  "Wow. That's amazing! And trust me, I know how hard it is to turn a profit in a small business t
hese days."

  "Thanks, Tess. Well, we had an investor for the boat purchase. A silent partner, he calls himself, so we're not supposed to talk about him." His glance strayed toward the door to Jack's office, and I had a feeling I knew who the investor was. I concentrated on ignoring the little flutter around the region of my heart at yet more proof of what a good guy Jack was and smiled at Lucky while he pulled a battered wallet from his jeans pocket. "I've got the receipt right here. We're at a hundred seventy-five on the balance?"

  "A little less, I think." I confirmed his balance at $150.75, he paid, careful not to touch me, and I brought his guitar out to him, still in its case, unopened since the day I'd taken it in pawn.

  "Thanks, Tess, you're the best." He probably didn't even realize he was cradling the guitar case like it was a baby, but my best friend was a musician, too, so I recognized the look on his face.

  "You're welcome. That smile is thanks enough. I'm glad to see the two of you back together again." My stomach grumbled again, louder this time.

  Lucky laughed. "Am I keeping you from your lunch?"

  "Actually, I think I'm heading out to Beau's now. I skipped breakfast and drank too much coffee when the pirate showed up, so I need some real food. I only have granola bars here." I crinkled my nose in disgust. Granola bars in no way equaled real food, but Eleanor insisted on keeping some in the tiny kitchen.

  They were healthy, she insisted.

  They were bird seed, I maintained.

  Lucky, having no idea of my inner granola bar disgust, was staring at me, his forehead furrowed. "The pirate?"

  I sighed. "It's a long story."

  "Huh." He waited, but I really didn't want to get into it, so I just smiled and thanked him again for the payment.

  Lucky was making no motion to move, though, so I impulsively extended an invitation. "Hey, would you like to go to lunch with me? I know you're not usually much for being around lots of people—"